Musings on the Orange Line at 5:30 p.m.
So I got on the Orange Line at Foggy Bottom, after a very
long day visiting LCU Washington internship sites, for the very short, one stop
ride to Rosslyn, my standing “home” away from home when I visit the city about
five times a year. I step in a crowded
car, and stand by the door, dark blue suit and haggard face in tow, and the door
shuts. A tap on my thigh from the 30ish
woman in the seat nearby, and I look down to see her ask if I want her
seat. I quickly nod “no,” but I
contemplate a really, really amazing day.
I’ve been coming to Washington for several years now, and I’ve
gotten accustomed to the routine – commuting into the city each morning,
depending on the Metro to get me near appointments, and walking – walking,
really walking – did I say “walking?” -- walking a lot, all day, to get things
done. I saw five persons today, all over
the region, and I experienced everything.
But most of all, I experienced age, and familiarity. One touring couple asked me for
directions. Asked ME. A cab driver asked me if I was a veteran, on
the way to the V.A. hospital. Two
veterans – one black, one white – asked me what was my service branch. A third young veteran thought he knew me; he
claims to have been born in Lubbock; he is suffering from traumatic brain
injury in Iraq.
I felt, at 5:30 p.m., that I just wanted to go “home.” No touring the nation’s capital, just getting
to rest at the end of the day.
And some younger commuter offered me – the old, D.C.
commuter me – her seat.
I never caught her eye again before I got off the
train. But I did see her reading
material. Just before I got off the
train, I saw her pull out a plastic-covered folder full of information. It clearly said “7-Eleven” on the first
page. It was a new employee training
manual.
I am older, and I am blessed to have been empowered to
direct an LCU Washington initiative. I
am very blessed. And I am here enough to
be viewed as an old man who commutes to work.
And I am very, very thankful for a wife, Sharolyn, who has supported
this good work for students to excel.
And, I am humbled again this week. Courageous, perhaps naïve veterans “think”
they know me. Others, waiting hours to
get medicine or see a doctor, assume that I am a veteran, and then when I deny,
continue to talk to me with generosity and grace. Touring couples see a suit and assume I am a
Washingtonian. And, certainly most
noble, a sweet, hard-working Washingtonian just trying to get a job offers the
old senior her seat.
It is indeed a wonderful world.
